Chugging into the past

The railroad car I'm riding in is pulled by steam engine No. 73, described by the engineer as "a cross between a sewing machine and a fire-breathing dragon." The narrow-gauge railroad climbs White Pass, following the trail once taken by thousands of prospectors headed for the Klondike gold fields.

Every summer this groaning, creaking, steam- puffing train transports passengers from the tiny town of Skagway almost straight up to White Pass Summit on the United States-Canada border.

Most visitors to Alaska come to Skagway via cruise ship. From a ship, the town resembles a Hollywood Wild West movie set. I expected John Wayne to come around the corner, six-shooters blazing. This is the place that Robert Service, the Canadian poet, described in his immortal ballads - the hurly-burly atmosphere, the tumult, and uproar of the Yukon during the gold rush of the late 1890s.

"The Cremation of Sam McGee" and "The Shooting of Dan McGrew" tell of rough, desperate characters who came looking for gold.

In today's Skagway, the White Pass & Yukon Route railway begins at the Skagway wharf, so it's easy for passengers to leave their ships and board the train. The red and black locomotive chugs past false-front buildings overlooking Skagway's wooden sidewalks.

In 1898, at the height of the gold rush, 80 bars lined the main street, and the town had 10,000 inhabitants. Today, the population dwindles from 1,500 permanent residents in the summer to 800 in the winter. Yellow nuggets are a thing of the past. For survival the town relies on the 600,000 tourists who arrive annually to retrace the Klondike trail and relive the gold-rush history.

Many of them take a 40-mile ride up part of the trail on the White Pass & Yukon. It took tens of thousands of workers and 450 tons of dynamite to build the 110-mile route. Not only did the builders have to contend with the harsh climate, but the geography presented challenges as well. In the first 20 miles, the railway climbs 3,000 feet, with grades of 3.9 percent and turns of 16 degrees.

In 1994 - not quite 100 years after its debut- the railroad was declared an International Civil Engineering Landmark, putting it in the same category with the Eiffel Tower and the Statue of Liberty.

Early in its journey, the train passes Gold Rush Cemetery, where Jefferson Randolph "Soapy" Smith is buried. The resting place of the most notorious man in Alaska's past - a con artist, gang leader, gambler, and expert at separating prospectors from their gold - is nestled in the mountains between spruce trees.

On the other side of the cemetery the train begins its steep, winding climb. The cars squeak and jerk, metal grinding against metal.

"I hope this doesn't turn out to be a roller-coaster ride," the passenger across the aisle says.

"Should we offer the conductor WD-40?" asks a man in a red parka.

It's June and the spring snow is starting to melt. The panorama includes rocks as big as a cruise ship, tall trees reaching for sunlight, canyons, gorges, and waterfalls - breathtaking, spectacular - too much for one set of eyes to take in.

I leave the warmth of the railroad car and stand on the train's outside platform to take a few pictures. A professional photographer has her camera, tripod, and long zoom lens set up out there. We can see the curl of smoke from the engine, the reflections of the mountains on lakes, the bright eyes of a fox peeking through the underbrush, a lumbering bear making its way through the woods.

The cold, biting wind hits my face. Seventeen miles up the mountain we reach Inspiration Point, which has an unparalleled view of Lynn Canal, Mount Harding, and Chilkat Range.

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